


The Non-Combatant

by DragonTail



Series: Transformers: Cybertron [2]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Cybertron
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTail/pseuds/DragonTail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Confused and dismayed by the notion of warring Cybertronians, the ancient Transformer called Vector Prime seeks out the Autobot journalist, Tow-Line, for insight. The war correspondent's pacifist ways could spell the unlikely duo's doom, however, when an malevolence as old as time itself comes hunting the old seer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I stand on the grassy plains of Earth, and I feel like a false god.

A gentle breeze runs over the land and ruffles the grass. The tiny green fronds shimmy and move, but do not change. I am a Transformer, a being of metal from the planet Cybertron, and yet I am much like that grass. Time, space, events, history... these things run over me, ruffle me, but do not change me.

I am Vector Prime, and I am the last of the First.

I am also a failure twice over.

Not only have I failed in my primary task but, in seeking to rectify my shame, I have again betrayed the trust of my creator. In my haste to help, in my naivety, I have placed a malevolent being on the path to power.

For the first time in all my travels I am adrift, lost. The breeze of time ruffles me like grass on a hill but I am unable to resist it. I am uprooted by events around me. I need knowledge if I am to continue, if I am to save this reality... if I am to regain my roots.

I have come to believe that knowledge can be gleaned from the Transformer who will not fight. The being who sits a short distance away from me now, hunched over and working on something hidden from my sight.

He is called Tow-Line and, without his assistance, I fear the battle may be lost before it ever truly begins.

\-----

Tow-Line had been cramped up for a good long while and, even with his endurance, his servos were starting to complain. He put down his data track recorder and stretched out his spine, splaying his thin legs at the same time.

 _Sweet Matrix_ , he thought, _Does it feel good to be in robot mode again!_

In his many cycles on-line, Tow-Line had traveled extensively and experienced much. But never before had he been forced to spend so much time in vehicle mode.

Oh sure, he understood the need for secrecy here on Earth. Very few humans were aware Transformers existed, and broader knowledge would no doubt result in a mass panic. So his time here – and that of the other Autobots - had quickly become "My Life as a Car", with transformation to robot mode an absolute last resort.

Which was why he'd driven all the way out here. Not just to get some time to himself, away from the base and the others and the constant war-mongering readiness, but to _be_ himself for a little while.

Their human friend, Kicker, had recommended this spot – quiet, out of the way, sparsely inhabited. He trusted Kicker but, cautious to a fault, Tow-Line had still set his telecommunication array to scan the vicinity. At the slightest scent of a human, the device – which formed the back half of his television news van mode – would sound an alert and he'd transform quicker than Blur could speak.

What he hadn't expected, though, was that it would detect the approach of a fellow Transformer.

He rose quickly, already formulating a course of action. If his visitor was friendly, then all was well. Unfriendly? Then negotiation was the order of the day. Failing that, it would be time for some evasive driving, and deeper into this uninhabited region at that.

As always, he would not fight.

His array beeped a second time, this tone more pleasant than the first. Whoever was approaching was friendly. Somewhat disappointed his solitude was at an end, he turned to see... him.

Vector Prime. The self-proclaimed "ancient defender of Cybertron". The first 'bot Tow-Line had encountered in millennia who actually believed their planet, Cybertron, was a living being named Primus.

It was a hokey theory that had long-since fallen foul of science. According to old religion, Primus was the essence of good and Unicron the essence of evil, fated to forever battle and so on. Transformers, the techno-priests would claim, were the creations of perfect good, designed as the universe's final line of defence against Unicron.

While Unicron was real, and had been defeated, the prophecies failed to account for the Decepticons. After all, they were pretty far from being "creations of pure good".

And here was Vector Prime, some old vagrant Transformer newly back in the galaxy, ready to spout all this rubbish at him here on Earth.

_Joy_.

However annoyed Tow-Line had been a milli-cycle before, he was doubly aggravated now.

Vector Prime came closer, raising an ornately decorated hand in greeting. Despite himself, Tow-Line returned the gesture. No sense being inhospitable even though none of the Autobots trusted Vector Prime.

With good reason. The first thing he'd done, as far as they knew, was give Megatron and the Decepticons some sort of map to sources of ultimate power! The newcomer claimed this was a mistake, and pledged to help the Autobots beat the Decepticons to these power sources, but the majority of the team remained skeptical.

Maybe, Tow-Line thought, he could use this as an opportunity to get to know their new "ally" a little better, get to the heart of what he was all about.

Though it had been a long time since he'd broadcast the news, Tow-Line grinned with anticipation. He felt that old hunger for an exclusive, for finding out the nitty-gritty details that had eluded everyone else. _Were I human_ , he laughed softly to himself, _my skin would be tingling_.

"Hello," Vector Prime said, his deep voice sounding flat in the quiet of the plains. "I was wondering if we could... talk."

Tow-Line's grin broadened. "I can honestly say that nothing would please me more. Have a seat." He gestured to the ground. "Try not to make too much of a dent – we don't want some curious human coming across a Transformer bumper print and getting strange ideas."

The older robot did not reply, but did sit down – carefully, Tow-Line noticed. He seemed to pause and gaze at the grass for a second, then looked up and winced.

"Something wrong?"

"I find your faction symbol... disturbing," Vector Prime said. "You should be worshipping the living god, Primus, and giving honour to him. That mark," he pointed, "it looks like me, and that makes me uncomfortable."

Tow-Line looked down at the burnished red insignia of the Autobots, sitting centrally on his blue and white chest. He then looked up at Vector Prime and, yes, there were definite similarities. He'd never noticed, but the symbol bore the same shape as Vector Prime's face. It was almost identical, in fact.

"Perhaps you're the inspiration for the symbol?" he offered.

"If so, then I am an unwilling party to blasphemy," Vector Prime rumbled, obviously upset. "Do you know of its origin?"

Inwardly, Tow-Line grimaced. This interview was starting to veer off from his planned course. He hated that. Still, give and take, establish the rapport.

"Not really," he said. "It didn't exist, as far as I know, until the start of the war. When Megatron deserted the Cybertronian army and formed his own political faction, all his converts bore the same purple mark." He tapped his insignia. "The Elders came up with this as a response, a way of marking the loyal – but why they chose it in particular, I can't help you."

"The war," Vector Prime spat. "Nine million years of fighting. Nine million! Matrix forgive you for your foolishness!"

"Not all of us fight," Tow-Line said firmly. "Some us of still believe negotiation has a place in this war."

Vector Prime's expression softened. "I had heard that of you, and it is why I sought you out. Tell me... why do you not fight?"

For a moment, Tow-Line was taken aback. It had been so long since he'd had to tell his story that it seemed strange... even offensive... that someone would ask.

"A story for another day," he finally managed to say. "Let's talk about your opinion of the war, your obvious distaste for it. Haven't you ever had to fight for what you believed in?"

They were sitting in the sunshine, and yet Vector Prime's face darkened.

"Millions of years ago, when the universe was new, Primus took the form of a mobile planet to better explore the vastness around him," he intoned. "He was one of twin heralds, designed to seed the expanding cosmos with new life while being at one with his surrounds.

"While he was a force for creation, his twin – Unicron – turned to destruction. Wishing to stop the eradication of the infant life around him, Primus reluctantly took up arms."

"Not that much different from the Autobots and the Decepticons," Tow-Line offered.

"To this end," Vector Prime continued, "he created 13 beings to optimise his defences. We went to war with the Chaos Bringer, and we defeated him. However, of the 13 who stood in defiance, only one remains... and I am he."

Mournfully, he lowered his head and was silent. Tow-Line sniffed.

"That, I've heard before," he said, unimpressed. "And not just out of your synthesiser – even though it's the same story you've been spouting since you first ran across the Autobots. It's also basic techno-theology, the stuff they palm off on ignorant kids who want to grow up to be Matrix Templars or such nonsense.

"Quoting the Covenant of Primus is impressive – given there's only two copies in existence and one's missing – but it doesn't give you credibility, Vector Prime. And right now, credibility is something you sorely need."

Vector Prime did not move. "You are referring to my... liasion... with Megatron." It was a statement, not a question. "I now know him to be the second most evil being I have encountered. That was knowledge, however, I lacked before.

"I thought him ally, a child of the Light itself. This war of yours makes no sense to me, is so foreign to the very concept of the Transformers as to be alien to me. Is it not reasonable to seek aid from my own people in the time of need?"

"Not when one of them is a power-mad dictator with universal conquest on his 'to do' list," Tow-Line quipped.

"Indeed. He is tainted by darkness," Vector Prime agreed, missing the barb. "I shared with him my secrets – the Force Chips, the Cyber Planet Keys, the Planet Maps – in error. In doing so I have failed my master. For should he be 'saved' by Megatron, Primus will become a puppet of evil and a force far more destructive than Unicron."

Tow-Line scoffed. "Force of evil," he said. "Unicron was just a big Transformer, no more or less evil than your average Decepticon. Obviously primitive Transformers came across him in the past, came up with some legends as a result. Nothing more to it than that.

"And besides..." he sniffed, "we beat Unicron without any mystical assistance or divine intervention. How does that fit in your omniscient master-plan?"

Vector Prime bristled. "It does not, and that is why we are in this dilemma!" he yelled. "You attacked the greatest evil in creation with weaponry, with warfare, with hatred and bile – all the things from which he feeds! You destroyed his form but not his _essence_!"

He shook his head. "And once again, it is my fault. Because I was not here to advise, because I failed, you struck with conventional weaponry, with Mini-con augmentation, with force. Now the worst of all possibilities has come to pass - a cosmic singularity that will swallow this reality whole. In defeat, the Chaos Bringer will destroy all life and so claim final, posthumous triumph.

"This is what you call victory? _Is it_?"

His fury was shocking, raging and powerful. For a moment, Tow-Line feared for his safety, feared he had pushed this being too far. Then Vector Prime calmed, his face dropping again to a mournful gaze.

"Despite my failure, despite my mistake, your leader has seen fit to act on my words," he whispered. "Why can't the rest of you see the situation for what it is?"

Tow-Line was quiet. "We do," he finally answered.

"We see Optimus Prime, a great and wise leader, splitting up the team and sending us out into the galactic boondocks because of some half-baked religious junk. And we see him doing that solely because Megatron believed this guff, and we can't afford to chance that he's wrong."

"Though I wish it were otherwise, you act not out of belief but out of a lack of another option." Again, Vector Prime's words were a statement, not a question.

Tow-Line sighed. "Why can't _you_ see this situation for what it is?"

"I do," Vector Prime answered, "I have faith that I my beliefs are right and yours are wrong."

They held each other's gaze, refusing to back down from their ideologies. Then an insistent beeping sounded to their left. Tow-Line's array was sounding a proximity alarm – again, it had detected a Transformer life-sign.

Tow-Line strode over to the device. "I don't understand," he said, puzzled. "I've configured this to tell me if a visitor's friendly or an enemy."

"And?"

"It can tell me it's a Transformer, but it can't say whether it's an Autobot or a Decepticon."

Vector Prime's optics narrowed. "This makes me uneasy," he said. With a sweep of his arm, he drew forth a large sword, composed entirely of brilliant blue Energon. "We should be wary, Tow-Line."

They paused, hydraulics tensed. Nothing he'd heard had increased Tow-Line's faith in Vector Prime but, right now, he was glad he had company. However, he wished the other Transformer had not been so quick to draw his sword. _Why must fighting always the first choice?_

For seconds, there was nothing. Then a shape appeared on the horizon. As it drew closer, loping at a lumbering pace, the duo realised it was a massive Earth creature. It was almost as tall as Vector Prime, with long black hair wreathed around its powerful legs and torso. Two enormous tusks thrust out from its head, just below its long ears and on either side of a thick, serpentine trunk.

"A native beast," Vector Prime breathed, sheathing his blade. "Your faith in your technology is misplaced, Tow-Line."

"There's three problems with that," Tow-Line replied. "One: that's a woolly mammoth, and they've been extinct for millions of years. Two: even if it wasn't extinct, mammoths weren't native to this area – heck, they'd have been unable to survive in this climate."

"And thirdly?"

"That thing is giving off our mysterious Transformer life signal."

The mammoth continued its slow gait toward them, then stopped about one hundred metres away. Tow-Line had but a moment to notice the creature's eyes – red, blood red – before it suddenly _charged_ , running far faster than any Earth animal. It rammed them with unbelievable force, hurling them up into the air.

Tow-Line slammed into the ground a moment later, static worming across his visual display. When it cleared, he saw his telecommunications array trampled, mashed into a slew of debris. The mammoth, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

"Vector Prime?" he called.

"Here," came the resonant voice, off to his right. "What..."

He never got to finish his question. A pair of explosions erupted in the space between them, forcing Tow-Line to cover his head with his hands. When he looked again, there was a third robot on the grassy plains... one unlike any he'd seen before.

It stood taller than both of them, its body a sickening mixture of Cybertronian alloy and organic flesh. Here and there, Tow-Line could see pieces of the mammoth, grotesquely twisted to reveal the robot within. It stood on powerful golden legs, crimson red metal glinting from its chest plate. Atop its shoulders sat the mammoth's tusks, now stained with red and looking blood-splattered.

Worst of all was its head – not just its hollow, Spark-less eyes but the fact its helmet and face plate... was that of Optimus Prime.

"Children of Primus," the beast roared, its voice like a stampede of marauding animals. "Die."


	2. Chapter 2

The clawed foot missed his cranium by inches. Tow-Line rolled, then rolled again, barely dodging two more stomps. The earth around him shook with their impact even as he rolled back to his feet.

He was upright once more, but not far enough away. The creature lashed out with its left arm – a nauseating hybrid of fleshy sinew and metal plating – and caught him by the shoulder. Tow-Line, whose endurance was among the best of the Autobots, howled in pain as the creature’s blue fingers dug into him.

It pulled him close, optic-to-optic. Again, Tow-Line could see that hideous face, that perverted mockery of Optimus Prime’s proud countenance. “Little one,” the creature breathed, every syllable sharp like a dagger, “surrender your Spark.”

Blue light flashed above, only to be met with red light. Vector Prime was next to them, hovering in mid-air on plumes of flame. He had brought his Energon sword down, but to no avail – from its right arm, the creature had grown a red Energon truncheon and expertly parried the blow.

“Ah, the Stopwatch,” it hissed. “I knew you could not resist showing your face in this reality.”

Tow-Line yelped as he hurtled – for the second time in minutes – through mid air and crashed onto the plains. He lay there for a moment, processors fragmented, then struggled painfully up on one arm.

The spectacle opposite him was nothing short of mind-blowing. The creature – now armed with two identical weapons, he noticed – did not even flinch as Vector Prime’s sword flashed again and again. Every blow, stab and cut… the beast shrugged them off, the noise of sword-on-truncheons echoing through the emptiness. It stood a full two heads taller than the ancient Transformer and was utterly silent. No laughter, no mocking, just pure malevolence.

Tow-Line rose to his feet and dashed over to his telecommunications array. It was ruined, damaged beyond repair. Without it, he could not transform into news-van mode, had no way of driving off or even hiding his true nature from the humans. He hefted a broken chunk of the array in his hand – an Energon shard that had once been the stem of his receiver dish.

 _Red Alert is really going to hate me for this,_ he mused. _Assuming I live long enough for repairs._

He turned to the fight. Vector Prime had drifted backwards, then brought his sword in low and horizontal, aiming for the creature’s torso. With a sucking noise, part of its body shifted – the mammoth tusk that had been on its shoulder was now by its side, blocking the sword. Vector Prime’s surprise was obvious, but lasted only a second before both truncheons impacted with his neck. He screamed and fell – but only a short distance.

A split second before he hit the ground, he transformed. His body shifted, internal gears screeching their protest, into a long and somewhat triangular spacecraft. Its ebony and gold surface was engraved with carvings of cogs and gears … as if his entire form was some kind of massive clock.

Vector Prime pivoted and spread intricate lattice wings. A brilliant bolt of blue energy erupted from his nosecone, detonating on the ground between the creature’s legs. It was immovable but the ground below it was not – as the soil shifted, the beast was caught unawares and actually toppled to the ground.

The ancient Transformer wasted no time. He turned and flew across to Tow-Line, his engines whipping up grass and soil around them. “Climb onto me,” he ordered, and the Autobot complied. Tucking the Energon away, he scrabbled for purchase on the ship’s detailed surface. Eventually he buried his fingers in grooves along the nosecone’s edge and braced his feet against the wing struts.

“Your sword!” he cried, nodding back toward their enemy. As he had transformed, Vector Prime had dropped his weapon.

“No time,” the ship replied, panic in its words. “He has arrived far earlier than I’d even feared. Distance, not weaponry, is what’s needed now.”

Vector Prime accelerated, powerful engines spurring them forward. “Stay low, under the level of the humans’ radar devices,” Tow-Line urged, remembering the need for secrecy. “And head deeper into the plains!”

“We need concealment. The city…”

“Is full of innocents!” Tow-Line yelled. “Do you really want that… that _thing_ rampaging through human dwellings?”

Vector Prime was silent, but he changed course. They turned in a wide arc and, hugging the ground, headed into the plains. “It is my hope,” the ship finally said, “that Nemesis Prime can only put on bursts of speed in this form, and will lope the rest of the time. That may give us an opportunity to prepare.”

“You don’t think he’ll give up now, head back to where he came from?” Tow-Line said, failing to convince even himself.

“I wouldn’t,” Vector Prime said quietly. “And my fear is Nemesis Prime thinks the same way.”

Tow-Line said nothing, choosing to silently absorb that odd bit of data. _Nemesis Prime? That would explain a few things, including why it looks like the boss-bot. But why didn’t my scanners register it as an unfriendly, a Decepticon? And how did it get so close without me detecting it?_

They flew for a few minutes, then landed. Tow-Line slid off as the other robot transformed, then fell to his knees. On either side of his neck, Vector Prime bore deep gashes. He was injured, but how badly Tow-Line could not tell.

“I’m the oldest ‘bot on the team and I’ve seen a lot of things in this universe,” he said. “From the slave mines of Golganna Seven to the Shrikebats of Dromedon. I’ll tell you for free, though, that I’ve never seen anything like that. Who is he?”

Vector Prime rested his weight on his hands, his face pointed to the ground. “I don’t know.”

“I’ve a hard time believing that, on account of you giving it a name and all,” Tow-Line spat. “Nemesis Prime, was it? I take it he’s an old friend of yours – well, maybe not friend, but I’m sure you see where I’m heading.”

The ancient Transformer sighed, and it was at once both the weariest and Spark-rattling sound Tow-Line had ever heard.

“I was the last of the 13 and, even though his foe was gone, Primus had a task for me,” Vector Prime said. “Fearing Unicron had survived, Primus was no longer willing to travel the multi-verse. So he withdrew into the core of Cybertron, and charged me to travel on in his stead. He gave me power over time and space, and sent me across the realities.”

“Other _realities_? Come on,” Tow-Line scoffed. “That bunk’s for Protoforms.”

“Nevertheless it is true,” the older robot continued. “I have spent centuries on other worlds, with other races, cataloguing the myriad species and forms of life that exist. Defending it. Though many are parallel to one another, no two realities are the same. Even this Earth,” he said, looking around, “differs from the Earths of other realms.”

Tow-Line kicked at the ground, suddenly impatient. “For the sake of conversation, let’s say I believe you. What in the name of the Matrix does any of that have to do with…”

“Nemesis Prime, it would seem, is my opposite number,” Vector Prime answered. “Where I go, he follows. What I seek to rescue, he murders. And in every reality, on every world, he is different. Sometimes flesh, sometimes metal… this time, horrifically both.”

He frowned. “I know not his true origin, but can only assume him to be a creation of the Chaos Bringer.”

“Like Sideways,” Tow-Line mused, remembering the traitor who stole the Mini-con super weapons. _Now we might have another one of Big Evil’s puppets running around. Terrific._

“So what do we do about him?” Tow-Line asked.

Vector Prime stared at him, his face pleading. “I do not know,” he said. “I have never defeated him. In all our battles I have been unable to stop him, and the loss of life each time has been catastrophic.”

Tow-Line’s jaw ratcheted open.

“Nemesis Prime is the reason I sought you out today,” Vector Prime continued. “I do not understand your war, and I am programmed to fight against that which I do not understand. Yet you are an Autobot who will not fight, and has still survived nine million years of conflict.

“You _must_ tell me why how you live on. That knowledge may be the last hope I have of halting Nemesis Prime’s rampage across the multi-verse… of making a third and final mistake.”

Above them, the sky darkened. Clouds were gathering.

\-----

His pace was slow, but that was not a problem. His speed was lacking, but it was of no concern. Nemesis Prime knew he would find his prey, no matter where… or when… he fled. It was as inevitable as the tides of Mercuranis Four.

Once again in beast mode, he used his elongated ears and heightened senses to search for the two who had, momentarily, eluded him. Vector Prime’s scent he knew well, but the other being… now that was a puzzle. Similar to his old foe, yet different. Younger. Less pure. Almost like one of the hated 13 but somehow tainted, ever-so-slightly, with a darkness much like Nemesis Prime’s own.

Could Primus have reproduced further?

Nemesis Prime did not know, but it was not his place to ask questions. He had his task, and he had all the time in all the universes in which to complete it. As long as Vector Prime functioned, he would follow. As long as Vector Prime fought, he would taste defeat. For how could violence destroy the bringer of violence? How could warfare stymie the lord of war?

It could not, and that was why Vector Prime would continue to fail until the moment he entered stasis lock. When something was different to him, he had only two responses: communicate or fight. He was primitive and weak, easy prey for Nemesis Prime.

A loud noise, directly overhead, caught his attention. So, this Earth had thunder and lightning as well. He wondered if its rain was water, or acid, or even living creatures.

He continued scanning the endless grass plains, his frustration mounting. His Evergence in this reality had been, once again, in a form of hateful flesh. How he despised the stench and mess of a hybrid form! It clogged his sensors and dulled his powers of observation, even as it doubled his strength.

It took him a moment to register the wetness spreading over his hairy carcass. This Earth’s rain was water then. A shame – he’d been hoping for small creatures similar to those he’d squashed, several realities ago.

The dullness in his sensors bothered him, but it was of no matter. His trunk had already picked up the scent of his targets. Nemesis Prime grinned around his tusks – even lumbered with flesh, he was certain this confrontation with Vector Prime would be the last.

\-----

Tow-Line’s sensors were highly acute. He liked to joke that he came with more extras than the “factory model”. Today, he’d have been willing to hand all of his enhancements across to Swerve (who sorely needed them, what with the way he bumped into traffic all the time) rather than see Nemesis Prime already drawing closer.

The rain grew heavier, pelting off his damaged shoulder and soaking the glass of his chest plate. His windshield wipers started up – an involuntary reaction.

“The thing is,” he began.

Then the words caught in his throat. He hated telling his story. It _offended_ him to tell it. He was a journalist, an objective chronicler of events – not the blasted subject of a data track! His every fibre railed against being “the star” of proceedings. That was for arrogant jerks like Slamdance, those who valued status over substance.

Vector Prime was staring at him, waiting. For the first time, the bigger Transformer… the ornately armoured, heavily armed, all-seeing all-knowing mystic from beyond the dawn of time… looked lost. Wet and scared.

This, Tow-Line told himself, was totally different. His personal opinion didn’t matter – survival did. For once, he’d have to apply his objective viewpoint to himself, and just report the facts.

“It’s not that I don’t fight,” he said. “I’ve picked up many a blaster in my time, thrown the odd thermal detonator into a fracas. I’ll fight if someone’s life is at stake, if a comrade needs me. But only when there was no other option – when I couldn’t think of a smarter way out, or negotiate, or outwit my opponent.”

He wiped raindrops from his optics.

“Before the war, I was a journalist – and by the golden spires of Iacon, I still am. It’s not my place to fight, to directly influence the outcome of events. I sided with the Autobots because Megatron is dangerous, and no amount of objectivity can obscure that.

“Warfare is for soldiers, not for reporters. I’m here to inform, to educate, to enlighten… and to question decisions that are wrong. That’s why I spend so much time with Rodimus – I hope that, one day, he’ll do the same thing. He’ll follow his instincts, choose violence as a last resort, and use his processor instead. There _must always be another way_. I refuse to accept anything else.”

He stopped speaking, and waited. The only sounds he could hear were the raindrops hitting the plain, and the distant thunder of Nemesis Prime’s pounding feet.

“Once more, I have failed,” Vector Prime murmured.

“Come again?”

“I came to you hoping for secrets, an insight you alone possess.” He made a disgusted sound in the back of his synthesiser. “Instead, I hear only the words of a non-combatant, one who does not value peace enough to fight for it.”

Tow-Line growled. “Are you even listening to yourself? Fight for peace – what kind of rubbish is that? Optimus knows violence only leads to more violence… that’s why he searches for other ways!

“You say you’ve travelled other realities. Seems to me all you’re learned is to talk nicely to the polite and wipe out the aggressive!” He snorted. “Maybe you did make the right choice going to Megatron, after all.”

“I fight in defence of the light!”

“ _But you still fight_ , risking the lives of others in the process! Threatening to wipe out the very things you seek to protect! Is that really the best way? Sometimes it’s necessary, sure, but is it the only option? You claim to have power over space and time, and yet you’ve never taken the time to analyse your own… own…”

“My own what?” Vector Prime demanded, his pride hurt.

“Time!” Tow-Line exclaimed. “I know how to stop Nemesis Prime!”

\-----

His foes were but a few hundred metres away. Nemesis Prime readied himself to charge when… Vector Prime’s signal abruptly stopped.

He looked up, red eyes wide. He saw Vector Prime fall, crumple to the ground, and lay motionless. He saw the other robot rise from a fighting stance, holding some kind of glowing red implement. An Energon spear, perhaps?

Nemesis Prime allowed himself a chuckle – uncharacteristic for him, but warranted. He’d never had an ally before. When he drew closer, of course, he’d have an ally no longer… just another victim. But the sight was still pleasing.

The other robot called out to him. “It’s over, Nemesis Prime – there’s no need for you to remain here!” he cried. “Vector Prime’s dead. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to… it was for the greater good, Matrix forgive me.”

He didn’t bother transforming or building up for a charge. His tusks would be enough to take down the pitiful mechanoid. Besides, he needed to project the image of gratefulness for a few moments longer. Just until his target was in range.

Nemesis Prime lumbered alongside the body of his foe. The other robot was indeed holding an Energon spear – albeit a strangely short one – though he could see no wound on Vector Prime’s back. Must have been a chest wound. Despite himself, he approved. It would be a pity to slag a being so noble and yet so untrustworthy.

Still, precautions had to be taken. He had not fought Vector Prime for so long that he could be blinded by unexpected victory. His hairy trunk worked its way over the prone Transformer, his snout snuffling for any trace of life. There was none. Vector Prime’s Spark pulsed no longer.

Nemesis Prime felt no loss, no savagery at having his target “stolen” from him. Such feelings were for lesser beings. Now he could turn his attention to a new mission, one decided by his master. Once he had destroyed the little robot, of course.

“I should thank you,” he rumbled, “for your assistance. I know of only one way to do so.”

The mechanoid tilted its head at a strange angle, a pained expression on its face. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” it sighed.

It took a moment to register, but Nemesis Prime realised something had gripped his muscled leg. Curse his flesh-blinded sensors – Vector Prime was functional after all!

The mammoth tried to break free but found he could not. As a beast he was too slow, too ungainly, to finesse out of Vector Prime’s steely grip. A second later, the stench of decaying flesh assaulted his olfactory sensors. He looked down to see his leg… _atrophying, withering away, crumbling to dust at his foe’s mere touch!_

Nemesis Prime’s cold-bloodedness, his killer’s instinct, evaporated at the sight. His very form was melting, his metal frame rusting and corroding more with every milli-cycle. His leg buckled sickeningly under him then gave way, bringing him crashing to the ground. The rain, now a full storm, filled up his eye sockets and soaked the ragged, painful wound. Agony was a completely alien sensation to him, and already he despised and feared it.

Panicked, he was only half-aware of sending his trunk lashing at Vector Prime. He managed to knock his enemy away from him, then tried to transform. His previous agony was nothing to the pain he felt now, and he screamed as gears and flesh shifted in excruciating patterns. When it ended, he was missing an entire leg and half of his abdomen!

Escape was his only option now. He could not stand to fight, could not focus to unleash his weapons. With an animalistic snarl he slapped the dial at the centre of his chest, triggering the dematerialisation sequence. Vector Prime had learned some new tricks, after all this time… when next they met, he would be ready.

The last thing he saw was a smirk pass across his hated foe’s features. Then he knew nothing but the blissful peace of the void.

\-----

It took a few hours, but someone finally came looking them.

Tow-Line heard tiny engines zipping over the plains, as well as the sound of rotor-blades fighting against the stormy conditions. That meant the Recon Mini-Con team – Jolt, Reverb and Six-Speed – were on their way.

“It’s good to have friends,” Tow-Line quipped.

“Yes,” Vector Prime agreed. “Even if their wisdom is not always apparent.” He shifted painfully. “I owe you an apology, my friend,” he said quietly. “First I thought you seer, then coward. You are neither. You are… unique, and that gives you wisdom.”

“There’s nothing unique about me,” Tow-Line replied. “I just try to look at things in a different way. Using your power over time in a localised way, for instance, to stop your Spark, suspend your functions and fool beastie’s sensors. Sort of like the way I fooled this nasty piece of work called Chaos, a couple of centuries ago.

“I'd hoped that would be enough - mission complete, he'd leave. Pity it didn't turn out that way.' He frowned. "Mind you, spot-ageing his leg like that – nasty stuff."

“An idea that would never have occurred to me,” Vector Prime said. “A way of fighting, with only minimal violence. Self-defence, rather than striking out... and only when all other options had failed.”

"Anyway," Tow-Line replied, "I think it’s clear your powers aren’t just a means of travel anymore.”

Vector Prime paused.

“You were right in your analysis – I am programmed to explore, communicate with the willing and fight the recalcitrant,” he said. “Adaptation, insight, forethought… these are not concepts in which I am well-versed.”

Two-Line chuckled. “They’re some of the things we Autobots do best,” he said. “Maybe, if you stick around long enough, you’ll learn it from us.”

Vector Prime smiled – and, for the first time since his arrival, his face seemed less haunted. “And perhaps if I ‘stick around’ long enough, you and your friends may learn a few things from me. Assuming this encounter has sufficiently increased my credibility.”

“It may just have, at that,” Tow-Line agreed. “I think I can vouch for you now. I’m not saying I’m ready to believe in gods-as-living-planets or anything, but my optics are a little more open, at least.”

“A pathway to your Spark,” Vector Prime said happily. “I can ask for no more than that.”

With that, they lapsed into silence and waited for the Mini-Cons to arrive.


End file.
